


it hurts to say (but i want you to stay)

by moodyreindeer



Series: the best and worst parts of me [1]
Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Anxiety, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Teen Angst, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25884562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyreindeer/pseuds/moodyreindeer
Summary: Everything is changing, and Ricky is barely holding it together. In a surprising twist of events, EJ doesn't make it worse.
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/E.J. Caswell
Series: the best and worst parts of me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887274
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	it hurts to say (but i want you to stay)

**Author's Note:**

> title from someday by the strokes
> 
> I swore to myself I would complete a fic about these two dumbasses during quarantine and by god I've finally done it.
> 
> It doesn't get too graphic in this, and this is set in a near-future, but marked underage just to be safe.

EJ has two graduation parties, because _of course_ he fucking does.

The first was majorly for his parents, more for family than friends, but overpopulated by a solid mixture of both. Ricky wouldn’t even have gone if not for Big Red begging for him to go so he wasn’t roped into awkward conversations with Ashlyn’s family members. 

(And the food didn’t hurt - it was amazing, _gourmet_ , because the Caswells have enough money to rent a top-tier caterer for a four-hour event. Ricky wanted to be bitter, knowing such a big affair was not in his future when he graduated, but it was hard to be jealous with cheesy spinach quiche melting in his mouth.)

The real party, the party anyone actually cared about, is Saturday night, when EJ’s parents are out of town and his huge estate is free for rampaging. Although Ricky doesn't love the idea of attending any event thrown in EJ Caswell’s honor, the varsity jocks always bring the best booze and EJ's parties always have the best playlists blaring through the house, so he drags himself along when Carlos arranges a theatre kid carpool.

As soon as he's in the house, Ricky gets a drink in his hand. He keeps himself busy with neon Jell-O shots and a Red Solo Cup that is never empty of some pineapple-vodka invention. He sticks within the general vicinity of a junior he vaguely knew to get a hit off a vape that is permanently attached to their person.

(Ever since an awkward birthday party that March, which ended with his mother and father fighting before the cake was even cut, he hasn’t really had the stomach for parties. But getting sloshed amongst strangers is a better prospect than watching old sitcoms on his couch in an empty house.)

His friends blur in and out of his sight all night. Nini, Carlos, and Seb are a dozen-limbed creature on the dance floor, bodies pulsing to the beat of an EDM remix Ricky hates; Ashlyn drags Gina through the house, introducing her to random people as her new roommate; although he couldn’t see her, Ricky can hear Kourtney holding court over a gaggle of choir kids somewhere. Even with the incessant thump of the music her voice travels through the walls.

By the time he actually lays eyes on the man of the night, Ricky is thoroughly plastered. He's curled up on a loveseat pushed aside in the living room to make a dance floor, and the flashing neon lights are making his head pound, when EJ strolls in, something tan and blonde hanging off his arm. The crowd immediately cheers his entry, making room as EJ inserts himself in the center of the dance floor. The music switches to something raunchy, an older song from the nineties perfect for grinding. Through half-lidded eyes Ricky watches as the girl made herself at home against EJ’s crotch, looping her arms around his neck and bringing them chest-to-chest.

Although the older boy’s body moves in time with the music, his head tilted to allow her access to his neck, his face betrays extreme boredom. The blonde arches into the athlete's large hands, which roam in a steady trek from back to hips. This poor girl is working so hard to grind all the right things in all the right places, and her dance partner looks to be as engaged with her as he would be watching a documentary for class. 

For some unknowable reason, this fills Ricky with an all-consuming rage. He doesn't know that girl, and he can't give two shits what EJ gets up to at his own party, but something about the image of a girl seeking pleasure from someone who wants to be doing anything else makes his hands curl into fists.

Maybe it's the still-fresh wound of his most recent break-up with Nini; they didn't even make it two weeks this time.

Maybe it's how the world proves time and time again that EJ doesn't have to try as hard as the rest of them to get what he wants. 

Maybe it's the fact that Ricky knows his perception of relationships will be permanently fractured by his parents failed marriage and the messy aftermath it left behind.

Or maybe it has to do with nothing but the alcohol coursing through his veins and the gnarled spite in his heart, but he was fucking _mad_.

With a renewed energy Ricky struggles to his feet, only to sit abruptly when the room spins uncontrollably around him.

He feels a prickle on the side of his face - EJ’s staring directly at Ricky's dark corner of the crowded room. Those indiscernible green eyes lock him in place, if only for a moment. Rage returning with a vengeance, Ricky drags himself out of the room, diving deep into the house in search of something to quell the maelstrom of emotions stirring in his stomach and rumbling through his chest.

Ricky finds the kitchen and a half-empty bottle of something golden and strong. He snags it and trips his way down the long, sophisticated hallways until he curls up an empty staircase, leading into pure darkness. He nurses the bottle, wishing to be home, to be drunker, to be doing anything else but licking his wounds in his enemy’s house.

When he brings the bottle up to his lips for another sip, an unseen force yanks it from his grasp. Ricky tries to blink away the giant smear across his vision to no avail. A face swims above him, featureless.

“Big Red’s leaving.”

Ricky sighs through his teeth. “So what?”

EJ leers down at him, unimpressed. “So I’d bet my entire trust fund he’s your ride.”

Ricky strains his ears. The walls still shake with bumping music and the air hums with incoherent chatter of hundreds of conversations at once; the party is nowhere close to dying out.

“Kicking me out?”

EJ sloshes what little was left in the bottle around. “More like cutting you off.”

Ricky rolls his head to avoid looking at the imposing motherfucker towering over him. “Fuck off.” His words lack any bite, even to his drunk ears.

The senior stands there in silence for so long Ricky thinks EJ has actually taken the hint and left. Instead, the older boy ditched the bottle somewhere and is just sneering at the junior with something disturbingly close to pity, which does nothing to soothe Ricky's anger.

And suspiciously, makes his eyes sting with tears.

He rubs at his eyes furiously, ducking into his elbow and adding a cough, but something tells him EJ isn't buying it. 

“Look, you have the next five minutes to get your ass up and find our friends for a ride or they’re all leaving without you.”

“Fuck off,” Ricky repeats with a vigor that surprises even him. “I’m not going home.”

EJ’s eyebrows dip in confusion, something akin to worry smothering out the annoyance on his face. “What’s at home that’s got you so scared?”

Ricky hiccups so hard his throat aches. His eyes are fucking burning - pathetic. “Nothing,” he says somberly. “There’s nothing there.”

Something about being drunk and alone in his empty house - the same house where his parents’ marriage fell apart; the same house haunted by memories of he and Nini’s past relationships - terrifies him. He knows his father is only going on dates because Ricky practically begged him to get a life, but he wishes he had been a little more selfish, if only so he could curl up in his bed and know someone else was breathing the same air as him.

Abruptly, the room spins again. Ricky blanches, panicking, waiting for the burn of vomit in his mouth, but it never comes. Instead, strong arms wrap around his waist and begin hauling him up the stairs.

Although tired and close to blacking out, Ricky has the urge to fight, if only because it's EJ pressed so close to him. All the alcohol pumping through his blood weighs down his limbs; instead of a bitchy protest, a mumbled “what’re you doing?” falls from his lips.

EJ doesn't answer, silently lugging him down the second floor. At the end of the hall, EJ kicks a door open and wastes no time dumping Ricky on the bed. Ricky blinks up at the ceiling, lacking the rock posters and Thrasher stickers that blanket his own.

Rough tugs take off his shoes and sweatshirt. A clunk of something metal; a trashcan put in easy reach of the bed.

“Try to go the rest of the night without dying.” With that, EJ vanishes, closing the door with uncharacteristic softness.

Ricky reaches out for indigence at being babied, of being locked away like a kid sent to his room without dinner.

But all he feels is exhaustion.

And the sheets _are_ incredibly soft - softer than anything he’s ever slept on before.

_Rich sheets,_ he thinks deliriously as he settles beneath the cloudlike comforter. 

Alcohol twists his stomach, invasive thoughts pounding on his skull, but he's asleep within seconds.

* * *

In the morning, Ricky wakes to the sound of a shower and a musical soundtrack blasting at full volume. He groans, burying his face in the heavenly pillow. Grogginess overrides any uneasiness of waking up in an unfamiliar bed.

Gradually, he starts to feel human again. A headache pulses behind his eyes. With a pained wince he sits up. Blessedly, a glass of water and two Tylenol wait for him on the nightstand. He chugs the water until the glass is empty, swinging his legs over and stretching his achy limbs. He must’ve slept like the dead last night - his entire upper body is sore.

The water stops. The music continues, clearer than before, but Ricky only recognizes the melody - something fast and poppy that Ashlyn and Nini sang at lunch all week.

He looks around the room. It has the same air of a luxurious hotel room - sophisticated but impersonal. A few trophies sit in perfect alignment on a dresser; a couple photos are tucked into a mirror on the back of the door, but the room is oddly void of any other personal touches. Where most kids have posters, these walls are adorned by abstract art pieces.

Ricky hates it, and something about the coldness of the room says EJ hates it too.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Standing in the doorway of a connected bathroom Ricky totally bypassed, EJ towels off his hair, an equally fluffy towel wrapped around his waist.

“I don’t have a car,” is the only thing Ricky could think of.

EJ is not impressed. “Ever heard of an Uber?”

Ricky rubs morning gunk out of his eyes with momentous effort. “I just woke up, give me a fucking break.”

EJ loses interest fast. He strolls to his dresser and pulls out a T-shirt and sweats. Ricky doesn't mean to notice the lack of underwear, but he does - EJ doesn't bother to grab a pair as he drops his towel and unabashedly pulls on his sweats. 

Ricky knows he should protest, throw a fit for EJ’s total lack of awareness for anyone but himself, but it’s hard to be angry when he’s caught so off-guard.

And the view isn't completely terrible.

Where Ricky is lean, EJ is toned, all tan and muscle and smooth. It's unfair, really, that someone so awful comes in such an attractive package.

EJ tugs the shirt over his head, smirking. “Like what you see?” He takes his sweet time folding the hem of his abs. If Ricky doesn't know any better, he would think the older boy is showing off.

Ricky fists the comforter. “I’ve seen better.”

( _In porn,_ is what he doesn't say, but something about EJ’s arrogant face hints he knows what Ricky means.)

When EJ smiles, it's wolfish. “Do I get to see yours?”

Ricky’s tongue turns into sandpaper. “What?”

“Oh, come on.” EJ prowls closer, until his wide stance cages Ricky in. “You think I didn’t notice you eying me on the dance floor with Heather?”

The moment in question comes back to Ricky in flashes - lights, dancing, rage. A lot of drunken rage.

EJ leans over until his mouth ghosts over the younger boy’s ear. “And you never did get a present. That’s kind shitty, Bowen.”

Ricky forces himself to laugh. His jeans have never felt tighter _jesus christ._

“What am I, a lowly middle-class skater, supposed to get the richest guy in school that he doesn’t already have?”

EJ’s brow quirks. “I bet you could think of something.”

Ricky glances down; EJ’s interest pushes out through his sweats. Ricky can't deny he's thought about EJ - he has eyes, after all. But he never thought his fleeting daydreams ever had any legitimacy; all people fantasized about getting the upper hand on their enemy, don't they? If Ricky's upper hand happens to look like the older boy arching into his touch while Ricky holds his orgasm in his hands, well - Ricky has always been comfortable with his sexuality.

EJ, however, is the type of sexual being that never prioritizes interest over opportunity. It's hard to tell if EJ is being this provocative because he actually wants it to lead somewhere, or he's just stumbled upon a new way to be a dick.

A large hand cups the back of his neck; against his will, Ricky's body shivers. “Ever been with a guy, Bowen?”

Ricky licks his lips. “Fuck off, Caswell.” His voice is too breathy to do any good.

EJ laughs, utterly sinful. “I bet you haven’t. I bet you’ve been saving yourself for the right dick to come along and wreck you.”

Teeth bite down on the top of his ear, causing Ricky to arch forward. He can't tell if it feels good or not.

The hand on the back of his neck snakes up to grab a fistful of hair and pull, forcing Ricky to bare his neck. A surprised whine leaves his mouth - the sting travels from his scalp to the rest of his body, putting him on edge. He scrambles to regain any sense of dignity but can only clutch the comforter. EJ leers over him, face unreadable.

EJ can do anything he wants to Ricky right now. Throw a punch, knock his teeth in, rip his hair out - even snap his neck, if he tries hard enough. Ricky is the most vulnerable he's ever been in his life and yet - 

He’s never felt safer.

The fingers in his hair tighten. Ricky’s mouth opens involuntarily as EJ's breath warms his ear.

“Tell me no.”

Ricky blinks in stubborn silence.

The hand tightens even more - if he focuses, Ricky can hear the strands of his hair breaking off. That commanding mouth moves down until those plush lips are ghosting his neck, still bared in a submissive offering.

“I fucking mean it, Bowen. Tell me _no_.”

Ricky scowls. “Fuck you.”

EJ pulls away. For a terrifying moment, Ricky thinks the older boy will leave anyway, abandon him just like everyone else seems to find so fucking easy to do.

Just when the remaining liquor in his system convinces him to open his mouth again, he's thrown violently on the bed and locked in place by muscular forearms on either side of his head.

Pressed into the mattress as firmly as he is, his range of movement is limited to furious wriggling, which Ricky does gracelessly. He twists his wrists in EJ’s tight grasp, swivels his hips in hopes of dislodging the athlete from where he straddles his thighs - no use.

A growl of frustration comes out of his throat, feral and strangled.

Dark green eyes look down on him impassively. Without breaking eye contacting, EJ nuzzle forwards and sinks his teeth into Ricky’s exposed neck, a vicious bite.

It feels like being claimed. It feels a little bit like losing, which Ricky hates to do, especially to someone as arrogant as EJ Caswell.

Perhaps worst of all, it feels like bliss. A knee wrenches his legs apart and presses down on his straining hard-on. With the pressure of a body pinning him into the mattress, it's hard to think of anything else but the teeth in his neck and the kneecap on his dick.

EJ unlatches from his throat, hovers above Ricky's mouth until their bottom lips brush with every panting breath.

"Last chance, Bowen - tell me no."

Ricky meets lustful green eyes through his half-lidded brown ones. 

"Do your worst."

Their lips crash together as EJ's hand undoes Ricky's jeans.

If this is losing, Ricky can deal with never winning.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hey on my [tumblr](http://spideypetes.tumblr.com).


End file.
